Oku na uupsya...

Mundjego was certain she was dead. He couldn’t see how she could’ve survived. He entered the small stick hut to find her laying atop the reed mat, not moving. Her eyes were closed. Yesterday’s sweat that had covered her forehead and face had dried. Her skin smelled of salt. She was dehydrated. Mundjego just stood in the doorway staring at Nelago. She was so young. She would’ve married in two or three years, many moons, Mundjego thought, to one of the neighboring boys – maybe Pokolo or Shigwedha or even her cousin Zulu, with the white spot, the spot of Kalunga, on the top of his head.
It had been five days since she had been outside in the open air. Her condition worsened each day. Every time Mundjego or Mndakola would take her water to drink to try to cool off her sweltering body. The other kids were not allowed to see her. Even Ongula and Kauko, who were both in their twenties were told to stay away from Nelago in the stick hut.
Mundjego saw her closed eyelid twitch. He looked closer and noticed her small chest, not yet breasts, gently and slowly rise and fall.
“Nelago. Nelago owa kotha?” are you sleeping?
No response. Either she didn’t hear her grandfather or her mind told her body not to move; his voice was the cacophony of her unconsciousness.
“Nelago. Nelago. Nelago, penduka akwetu. Owa kotha?” Nelago, wake up love. are you sleeping?
She moved her head, and his body loosened. He was relieved. In her waking her eyelids fluttered. Her eyelashes were long, so long that Mundjego wondered if she could feel the tips brush her upper cheekbone. The fluttered like the wings of butterflies.
Nelago turned her head and slowly opened her eyes. She showed no emotion. She wasn’t up for showing emotion and couldn’t. Mundjego saw this despair. His face was ice cold as always. His face was thin and his cheekbones were high and well-defined almost like a skeleton.
“Nelago.”
“Kuk.” grandfather.
“Owu li huepo?” are you better?
“Oku na uupsya Kuk.” it’s hot grandfather.
Her eyes were half shut and her voice was soft. Mundjego only stood in the doorway as before, not moving.
“Owa hala okalepe nomeya?” do you want a cloth with water?
“Eee.” yes.
“Ngiini?” what?
“Ano, Kuk.” yes, grandfather.
And he was gone. She wouldn’t remember his quiet entrance or exit. She only spoke because the rhythm of her mind had been disturbed and her response would bring back the harmony. And the harmony did return when his voice left. After a moment her eyelids shut and she went back to sleep.